


Perfect Solo

by Itsallfine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Fantasizing, Frottage, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Stimulation, Sex Toys, Solo Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallfine/pseuds/Itsallfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock couldn’t decide how he wanted to have John that night. </p>
<p>(The one where Sherlock uses his box of sex toys to take himself apart in every way John might have him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Solo

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my absolute first time writing explicit content. A billion thanks to my beta readers [May_Shepard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Shepard) ([elizabeth-twist](http://elizabeth-twist.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) and [BanimalQ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BanimalQ/works) ([sosickyetsobeautiful](http://sosickyetsobeautiful.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) for reading this over and giving me the confidence to post my porn. Constructive criticism is appreciated.
> 
> Also lololol it would figure that my longest story to date would end up being 100% porn. I swear I'll write something much longer one day. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).

Sherlock couldn’t decide how he wanted to have John that night.  
  
He sat back on his heels on top of the bed and considered his box of toys. So many options, but he’d only have one chance like this. Had to get it right. John was out of town visiting Harry, and Mrs. Hudson was out on a date for at least two more hours with the wispy-haired man (two small dogs, taste for light bondage). Thus, Sherlock had no particular need to be quiet that evening. All the same, he really wanted John in his mouth, which would keep him muffled anyway. Perhaps start quiet and end loud.  
  
Yes. A good plan.  
  
He laid out his dildos side by side on the bed and contemplated their properties. They were all of roughly the same length and girth (that is to say, similar to John, based on deductions made through gait analysis and the stretch patterns of his pants when compared with the tensile strength of the fabric). However, each cock was made of a different material, and each had been thoroughly cataloged according to color, texture, heat retention properties, ability to handle silicon- or water-based lubricants, and overall realism. Extensive trials had been necessary.  
  
Sherlock selected the most realistic option, a silicon number that held the heat of his mouth wonderfully and precisely matched John’s flesh tone. He held it between his thighs to warm it to body temperature, and the other dildos went back into the box.  
  
That was his mouth all sorted, then. But what else? A simple plug? No, something with vibration. Even better, something he could get a free hand on, if he felt the need. Something with variable speeds. Options, options. Sherlock dug through the box, passing over plain plugs and anal beads until he found a toy that met his specifications: a curving, ridged prostate stimulator with enough girth to feel like John and a built-in vibrator that nestled against the perineum, controlled by a small wireless remote. It was bright blue, but he wouldn’t be seeing it for most of the time anyway. It would do. He set it aside.  
  
Last details. Anything for nipples? Testicles? No...not tonight. Some nights he liked to take himself apart with as many sensations as he could create with two hands and a box full of toys. Tonight he wanted to focus.  
  
One more thing, though. From the bottom of the box, Sherlock pulled a small roll of silicon faux flesh. He unrolled it and pressed it between his knees next to the dildo to chase away the chill, then sealed the box and slid it under the bed. Ready to go.  
  
Sherlock’s cock was already twitching with anticipatory interest, but it was rare to get time completely alone without the chance of being overheard, so he ignored it for the time being. Instead, he closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths, concentrating on the sensation of air filling his lungs. He raked his teeth over his lips a few times, just enough to make them feel kiss-swollen and sensitive, then allowed his deep exhales to pass over them, tingling and warm.  
  
Hands, now. Hands down his clothed chest, brushing over nipples through expensive Italian fabric. The wine-colored shirt was cool and smooth, and it did nothing to hide the bumps of his nipples as they stiffened under his touch. Sherlock concentrated for a moment, distanced himself from the sensation, compartmentalized, flung open a door in his mind palace—and then it was John’s hands pressing into his ribs, fitting to the curve of his waist.  
  
He let his swollen lips part in a breathy, barely-there moan and moved his hands lower. Fingers over stomach, then finding hips, tracing down the little hollow between hip bones and pelvis. Staying far away from the cock, far too soon for that, but for upper thighs there was the light scrape of fingernails over suit pants. Tops of thighs, inside of thighs, just a tease of close, so close, brushing over the soft head of the dildo, nearly touching his—then he slipped his hands up to his shirt buttons, and his cock twitched in indignation at his ( _John’s_ ) neglect.  
  
Buttons slipped through holes, one, two, down, down, from the hollow of his throat ( _and a tongue would feel grand there right now, hot and wet on his skin_ ) to the untucked ends. The cuffs came next, but he didn’t slips his arms free—let the shirt hang loose instead, dragging over his flushed skin. His blood was hot in his veins, had done an admirable job of warming up the toys he held between his legs. He pulled them free, letting his hand linger on the heavy feel of the silicon cock in his hand before placing the toys next to his pillow.  
  
Sherlock sat back again, letting his heels dig into the flesh of his arse like two strong palms. Trouser button next, then the zip, but _slowly_ , with time for a small _click_ as each set of teeth separated. He shoved his hands into his pants, leaving his thumbs out to drag achingly over his filling cock as he eased the fabric down, trousers and pants both. He huffed a tiny gasp, ground up against the too-light touch that was gone too soon as he pulled the material over his thighs. He stood then, the floor shockingly-cold against his feet, a stark contrast to the heat pounding beneath his skin, and he let everything fall to the floor—except the wine-colored shirt. Not yet.  
  
With his shirt cuffs hanging open over his hands, Sherlock reached out and dragged his fingertips over the soft silicon of the prostate stimulator, then slid his bedside drawer open with forced slowness. He selected his favorite water-based lubricant, thoroughly tested with a variety of toys and proven to provide the best experience—slick, long-lasting, non-damaging to silicon. He knelt back on the bed and set his stage: the roll of silicon was laid out flat halfway down the bed; the hard, warm cock was propped on his pillow; the stimulator was laid next to him, within easy reach, and the accompanying remote went on the other side the pillow. His own cock was heavy between his legs now, insisting that he do something, anything, _right now_.  
  
So he obliged.  
  
Sherlock clicked open the cap of the lube and added a generous amount to the flat stretch of silicon on the bed, then dragged his fingers through it and closed his eyes. _John’s_ fingers, rubbing together to warm the slickness, reaching behind him, guiding Sherlock up onto his hands and and knees. Tracing a finger lightly over the small of his back, then down, down, so gentle it nearly tickled, and Sherlock bucked in anticipation, until the pad of John’s index finger—  
  
—skipped over his hole entirely to trace down his balls and press into his perineum, eliciting a frustrated growl. Sherlock canted his hips back and spread his knees further apart, imagining how it would look to John: wantonly presenting his arse, practically begging for John to take it. John’s breath would hitch, and he’d chuckle, low and warm. Say something filthy. _You want it bad, don’t you?_ he’d say, stroking over his hole. _You want to feel my cock inside you, want me to feel me push_ —and at that, the first finger started circling with intent— _right up inside of you, make you feel me. Is that what you want, Sherlock? I need you to say it. Say it, Sherlock._  
  
“Yes,” Sherlock whispered into the silence of the room, sinking his middle finger in with a groan. “Yes, John, _god_.” He loosened up almost immediately, with practiced ease, adding a second finger and rocking back against his hand. Good enough for the stimulator already, but in his mind John added a third finger to prepare him for his girth, and Sherlock hissed against the imagined stretch, his cock jumping. _That’s it, Sherlock. You’re almost ready to take me. You want it? Tell me, Sherlock._  
  
“Yes,” he gasped again, rising to a kneeling position and scrabbling for the prostate stimulator with his other hand. He dragged it quickly through the lube on the silicon sheet, then reached behind, giving himself another stroke or two with his fingers before withdrawing them.  He fell forward onto one forearm, pressing his arse back for John, let the back of the hand holding the stimulator stroke over his cheeks like John might do while admiring the view. The head of the stimulator ( _John’s cock, hot and heavy against his arse, so ready for him_ ) pressed against his hole, just a bit. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, John’s voice low and breathy in his mind. _I’m going to fuck you now, Sherlock,_ he said, pushing a little harder, but still not inside. _Tell me you want it. Tell me what you want me to do, love. Do you want me inside you?_  
  
Sherlock choked out a gasping breath. “Fuck, _god_ , John—fuck me, please, I need—” He cried out as John’s cock pushed inside him, past the tight ring of his hole. Sherlock angled the toy exactly how he liked it, brushing indirectly against his prostate, and nestled the other curved end behind his balls so the still inactive vibrator pressed against his perineum. He shifted on his forearms, rocked his arse back a bit and felt the toy shift inside him, a light and indirect jolt to his prostate— _god_. He couldn’t help the little moan that escaped him, and writhed a few more times, letting John’s cock fill him up and fuck him.  
  
“Oh god, _John_ , John …” Sherlock let out a shuddering moan and stretched his fingers out toward the pillow. _I know a way to keep you quiet,_ the John of his fantasy offered, somehow in front of him now while still fucking him so good from behind. The illogic of the fantasy didn’t bother Sherlock, not when John’s cock hung heavy in front of him, the warm soft skin brushing his chin, his cheek. Sherlock’s right hand closed over the dildo as his left took up the remote for the stimulator.  
  
Fantasy John took his cock in his own hand and pressed it down against Sherlock’s bottom lip, drawing the tip across, leaving a smear of precome. Sherlock darted his tongue out over his lip and imagined the musky salty taste of John bursting in his mouth. He pressed the soft head against his lips, letting his tongue dart out to trace John’s slit, gather more of the taste. Sherlock’s mouth watered in anticipation, wanting the heavy feel of John on his tongue, filling his mouth, so badly, _so_ badly …  
  
_Open your mouth for me, love,_ John said, ( _still fucking him so good, oh god_ ), tracing Sherlock’s jawline with his cock, then rubbing the head against his lips once more. _If you want it, open your mouth and take it. What do you say, love?_  
  
Sherlock rocked his arse back once, twice, and on the third time he cried out and took the whole cock in his mouth, sliding his tongue along its smooth warmth and flicking on the vibrator nestled inside the prostate stimulator. He moaned around his mouthful, his arse clenching, writhing as the toy buzzed against his prostate and perineum. It was so good, _so good_ , so full from both sides, John inside him everywhere he could be.  
  
Sherlock spread his knees even wider and slid his forearms higher on the bed until his achingly hard cock came into contact with the silicon mat on the bed, soft and warm and so like the texture of John’s gorgeous skin. The position made his cheeks clench around the toy up his arse ( _John pounding into him, filling him up, so hot inside him, so close_ ) and he felt his balls tighten, the spiral of hot pleasure starting low in his gut.  
  
He flicked the vibrator to the highest setting and thrust down in an erratic rhythm, grinding his cock down against John’s hip, bouncing his arse back against John’s cock, fucking his mouth with John’s cock. Even the girth of the cock wasn’t enough to keep him quiet, not with John under him, in his mouth, fucking his arse, John’s hands spreading his cheeks so he could see where his cock disappeared inside Sherlock. He could feel every inch of him—John’s hips snapping against him with rough little _ah, ah, ahhs_ until Sherlock could feel the hot flood of John’s seed deep inside him, spilling over his tongue and down his throat, spurting all over his belly. John was _coming_ all over and inside him, and Sherlock’s whole body _shattered_ , the wave of his orgasm rocking his body with spasms. His cock jerked against John’s skin, shooting out hot come to mix with John’s own. He cried out until his throat was raw, shouting John’s name, _god, John_ , and sucked hard on the cock in his mouth while John coaxed, _that’s it, love, come for me, let me hear my name, let me fill you up, gonna fuck you forever. Forever._  
  
With a shuddering gasp, Sherlock switched off the vibrator and let the cock fall from his mouth, resting his head on his forearm. His lips felt deliciously raw and used, his jaw slightly sore. _Perfect._ Just how he’d wanted it.  
  
He caught his breath for a moment, then set the cock aside and reached back, easing the stimulator from his body with only a small wince. Tissues beside the bed were fine for a cursory wipe down (all the toys would need a more proper cleaning later), and with his hands free he took a moment to reach behind himself again, tracing his sensitive hole with two fingers. He imagined it fucked out and wet with John’s seed instead of only a bit loose and lubed, imagined John’s fingers instead of his, gentle in the aftermath. _All right, love?_ he’d ask, drawing his hands over Sherlock’s skin in the dim light. _All right?_  
  
“Perfect,” Sherlock whispered, rolling over onto the clean side of the bed. He nestled his head into the crook of his elbow, and imagined the weight of John’s arm settling over his waist. “Absolutely perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't actually intend for this to be sad angsty wanking, but apparently that's how some people read it? I leave it up to you. Sad Sherlock? Happy, satisfied Sherlock enjoying his own company? You decide.
> 
> I think I’ll be writing a remix/alternate ending of this fic where John shows up partway through, because I can’t get it out of my mind no matter how cliche it is. So, yeah, some more literal John will be coming. 
> 
> Terrible pun intended.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).


End file.
